


Softened Edges

by Nelfears



Category: Defense of the Ancients | Dota, Dota 2
Genre: Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, Dubious Morality, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Dubious Consent, M/M, Regret, Sexual Content, Unhealthy Relationships, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-29
Updated: 2018-09-29
Packaged: 2019-07-18 22:22:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16127957
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nelfears/pseuds/Nelfears
Summary: Silencer, Invoker, and Anti-Mage are caught up in a strange, uncertain, and unspoken situation. Anti-Mage has his regrets.





	Softened Edges

Silencer had seemed soft at first, a sharp man dulled by his years. Yet as Antimage had gotten to know him, he seemed less permanently changed and more like something sharp with a blanket thrown over it to muffle its cruelty. It had taken a while, though, for him to see the hard edges on the man, and as they were revealed so too was something in Antimage. Sinister, maybe; and lying curled on his side, he felt sickened by himself, as well as the man pressed close and warm against his back.

Sometimes in the dark, in quietness, Antimage presses his fingers to his temples and tells himself the first time was coercion. That Nortrom's hot breath against his neck was unwanted and unasked for. That when Nortrom had asked him if he was sure--if he was comfortable-- he'd said no. And in the same darkness, Antimage's fingers would travel from his temples to his neck, to rove over the marks there and shudder.

Invoker was different, Invoker was the same. He'd trail his long fingers from Magina's jawline to the shell of his ear, watching him closely with bright pupilless eyes for signs of submission. Though the pull of magic was unsettling, it was a constant, a comfort-- so unlike the hollowness of Nortrom's presence. Invoker had some sort of pride about him, admiring his handiwork after releasing onto Magina's face. He'd take gentle hold of Magina's jaw in his hand, turning his face this way and that, praising him.

Karl's vanity was strange, but expected, not like the way Nortrom tucked himself away afterwards, resting his hand on Antimage's head. Like he was a dog, or one of those wolves Lycan ran with. Darkly staring at the floor, Magina would wipe his mouth with the back of his wrist as Nortrom turned away, loathe to watch. In the moment of silence between them, right then, Antimage hoped he was more the wolf than the dog.

The very first time came suddenly, unexpected. Silencer had stayed close to his side in battle that day, claiming he found solace in the way Antimage drew mana from his victims. It was only later, bathing in the river, that Nortrom watched Magina disrobe and wade into the water. Antimage had turned his head away, as if coy, feeling Nortrom's eyes on him. 

It was easy from there, almost natural. Nortrom glided into the water after him, cutting a path of ripples into the surface as he approached from behind. As with all things, the man was silent, and Antimage angled his face away in mock-politeness while Nortrom ghosted long fingers over the back of his thigh. Nortrom's face pressed close to his, skin strangely cold, while his nails skated over Magina's abdomen. He'd asked permission, and Magina had granted it.


End file.
